


When Time Stands Still

by purajobot935



Series: In Another Time [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Five Armies, Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Fili is a good brother, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied Relationships, Kili doesn't care what people think, Minor canon divergence, Thranduil has compassion, Tissue Warning, You're going to cry a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purajobot935/pseuds/purajobot935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas finds Kili amidst the carnage of the battlefield. He might be an immortal, but for the first time in his life he feels how short time is, and what happens when it runs out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Third Age, 2941  
Erebor**

It was a mess.

That was the only way to describe it. A cursed mess.

A scattered mess, of Elf, Orc, Warg, Dwarf and Man.

Legolas was hard pressed to remember how or why it had even gotten to be this way. How had it all gone so horribly wrong? 

They should have been alert. 

His own race out of all those present should have been alert to the approach of the oncoming legions of Orcs and Wargs instead of haggling over riches they technically had no claim to. They should have rallied sooner, joined forces, and utilized each other’s strengths to meet the enemy as a united front. As it was, they only had just enough time to scramble into a defense before the first wave was upon them.

He had long since lost sight of his father and Tauriel, a mass of orcs coming between them and pushing him further towards the shadow of the Lonely Mountain where at least the Dwarves had managed to muster their forces and push the enemy back from the gates. Even from where he stood, he could hear the voices of the two Dwarven leaders shouting commands to their people.

There was certainly no mistaking Thorin Oakenshield’s mighty voice.

Until it suddenly stopped.

Legolas spun, dispatching a warg that was blocking his view, in time to see the King Under the Mountain fall, though he couldn’t tell by what manner of weapon.

Anguished cries in Khuzdul followed, and removing an orc’s head from its shoulders, he turned again to see the two young princes rush to the aid of their fallen uncle, felling the enemy around them like a whirlwind of sharpened steel.

His heart lightened, glad especially to see the younger of the two alive.

Until it suddenly stopped.

He wasn’t sure what happened, distracted as he was trying to keep his own head, and only looking over again when he heard a scream – one that he prayed he would never have to hear again in his life; the scream of someone who had just lost his soul. He could only watch in dismay as the older of the two collapsed, twin swords falling from his hands, while the younger screamed his name, dropping his own sword so he could catch his brother.

His prayer went unanswered, because the next scream Legolas heard was his own.

The cold fury in his knives carved a path of carnage towards where the dark-haired prince now lay beside brother and uncle, even as he felt part of his own soul slowly leaving him. He dropped to his knees, sheathing one knife and gripping the other tighter, and touched the bleeding body.

For a moment, hope fluttered to life again. The Dwarf still breathed and Legolas looked down into the warm brown eyes that had once held so much joy and love; that would still continue to, if he had anything to say about it.

“Kili,” he called as he gutted an orc to his left. “Kili, please hold on.” A warg fell to his blade on the right. “Stay with me, I’ll get you to help.”

“Legolas…” The Dwarf’s voice was a whisper lost in the roar of battle. So different to the cheery voice he had become accustomed to. “Hurts… can’t…”

“You can.” He gripped the young prince’s hand with his free hand. “You must.”

A knife sailed over his head and embedded in the skull of an orc that tried to sneak up behind him. Looking up he saw a group of Dwarves approaching and recognized them as some of Thorin Oakenshield’s company. The one with the hair shaped like a star, and the one with the strange hat reached them first. They froze, stricken by the sight of their fallen – and possibly dead – King and Princes.

“We have to get them inside,” he said, snapping them out of their grief momentarily. “Kili still lives. They might as well, but not out here.”

He lifted Kili gently in his arms and stood, forcing himself to ignore the way the Dwarf’s blood soaked into his clothes. The other Dwarves watched him before an older Dwarf with elaborately braided silver hair picked up the king, while the one with the star-shaped hair and the one with the axe in his head carried the older prince.

“This way, lad,” the one with the hat said, eyes sorrowful as they retreated back to the mountain.

Somewhere along the way Tauriel found them, and with her help, the rescue party passed through the relative safety of the gates. The respite was short-lived. Tauriel’s face reflected the pain on his own as the single Dwarven healer present pronounced the older of the princes dead in a voice that was thick with grief.

Then he turned to where Legolas sat with Kili in his arms with Tauriel crouched beside them as she placed her hands on his wounds and tried to stem the bleeding.

“We will tend him,” she told the healer. “See to the king.”

The old Dwarf nodded and hurried to do just that.

“Kili…” Legolas only had eyes for the precious burden in his arms. “Please, Kili. You must stay with us.” If his own voice wavered, Tauriel said nothing, focused as she was on her task.

The Dwarf’s eyes opened again, slower this time, and Legolas felt cold fingers clench his heart. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, Kili, listen to me,” Legolas pleaded. “You didn’t travel all this way just to die here, did you?”

Blood trickled from the corner of Kili’s mouth as the young prince let out a soft chuckle, and Legolas pretended he didn’t see Tauriel’s eyes widen in dismay as he cradled the Dwarf closer.

“I remember that,” Kili said. “I remember…”

Legolas didn’t think he would ever forget….

~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Third Age, 2911  
Eriador**

For a being that was relatively unaffected by cold temperatures, especially seeing as part of his home forest bordered the eastern fringes of the Misty Mountains, even Legolas had to admit that this winter was particularly cold. It was not like he could deny it given the way he shivered in his thin travel clothes, and he wrapped his well-worn cloak around him to try and keep out most of the wind.

His two guards looked as miserable as he felt and he knew they wished they were back home in the warm halls of the Greenwood. This probably wasn’t what they expected to encounter when they’d volunteered to accompany him on his travels to visit the few remaining Elven territories of Middle-earth. Though all things considered, it had been quite pleasant up till now.

Lorien had been their first stop seeing at how it was almost right next-door to the Greenwood. They hadn’t been able to go further than the border however since the March-wardens had refused anyone entry that did not have official business with the Lord and Lady, be they peasant or prince. Legolas respected their wishes and simply learned what he could from the wardens.

The passage across the Misty Mountains through the High Pass had been uncomfortable if uneventful and Rivendell had been a welcome sight. He received a much warmer – literally – welcome from Lord Elrond and his sons who took a liking to him and decided to be his guides around the Hidden Valley.

Though all three had cautioned against journeying farther. Elrond in particular had warned him that they were in for a particularly hard winter and it was in his best interests to turn back, but Legolas had decided to risk it since he’d made it this far. Besides, he really wanted to see Hollin and the Grey Havens.

He didn’t feel the onset of winter until they had left the ruins of Eregion behind them and crossed the Greyflood into Eridaor.

Studying his map, he figured that they were now somewhere in between the south-western border of The Shire just past the Baranduin, and the southern portion of the Blue Mountains.

That was when the wargs attacked.

Legolas only remembered the flurry of snow, the snarls of the beasts as they moved in for the kill, the whistle of arrows and the dying howls, the screams of the horses and then of the elves. He even thinks one of them might have been him, but he can’t be sure because then there’s pain, lots of it, and it assails his body until the darkness pulls him under.

……

It was also what jolted him back to consciousness, and he let out a pained moan as someone shook him gently.

“Come on, please be alive.”

The voice was clear, and on the verge of being a little deep, but not quite there yet. It’s a nice sound, he thinks.

“We should go,” another voice said, this one a little higher pitched, but just as clear as the first. They both sounded young. “I don’t think there’s anyone alive here.”

“We can’t just leave them,” the first said.

“There’s nothing we can do, Kíli.” The second sounded disappointed. “There’s another storm coming and those wolves might be back at any time. We need to leave now or we’ll never reach the mountains before nightfall.”

“It’s just not right, Fí.”

Legolas felt the warm grip on his shoulder start to move away, and he knew if he lost contact with it completely, he would be seeing Mandos’ halls sooner than he cared to. So with some effort, he moved the arm that hurt less and managed to close his fingers on a smaller wrist.

There was a flurry of footsteps around him as he struggled to open his eyes, the pain threatening to pull him under again, and it must have shown on his face because the grip on his good arm tightened slightly and the first voice – Kíli – spoke again.

“Stay with me, Elf,” he said. “You have to hold on. You didn’t travel all this way just to die here, did you?”

“No,” Legolas murmured, and this time he forced his eyes to open.

Part of him wondered if this was some sort of dream, because staring back at him were two Dwarves, one fair-haired, the other’s locks dark. The latter one spoke again in the first voice Legolas had heard.

“Good. You’re going to be alright.” There was a slight scoff from the other one that this one – Kíli – ignored. “Now listen, we’re going to take you with us up into the mountains. Fíli and I are going to help you onto a pony, but you’ve got to try and stand.”

He nodded and then tried to keep from whimpering in pain as they helped him to his feet. He nearly screamed when Fíli touched his left forearm and the dwarf quickly let go, giving the limb a worrying glance. His legs, though shaking and unsteady, are thankfully uninjured, though there are wounds on his torso that are starting to burn.

Kíli let him lean against him while they waited for Fíli to bring one of the ponies over, and he started to look around for his two guards when the dwarf stopped him.

“Don’t. Just look at the pony.”

“I need to know what happened to them. What happened to me.”

“They’re dead. You probably would have followed them if we hadn’t reached you when we did.”

“Just the two of you?”

“There were others before us,” Fíli said as he came up. “They managed to drive off the wolves and we joined some of our party to scout around the area. The others returned to the mountains. We should have returned with them, but Kíli here insisted we make sure everyone was dead before we left.”

“I thank you,” Legolas replied to the young dwarf as the brothers helped him onto the pony’s back. It was a little uncomfortable, given the smaller size of the animal, but he knew he was in no condition to walk. “What will happen to these two elves?” He could hear Fíli gathering up the weapons of the fallen.

“The scouts will bury them as best they can when they return to follow us. The weapons we will take,” Fíli replied. “Meaning no disrespect, but we’d rather not leave them behind, and we can forge them into something new.”

It was not exactly the most honorable thing to do, Legolas knew, but this winter seemed a hard one, and if there were wargs on the prowl, weapons were of better use in the hands of the living than of the dead.

“I understand,” he said.

He recalled little of the journey to the mountains as exhaustion caught up to him again and pulled him under. The last he remembers hearing was Kíli’s voice urging him to hold on, and the cold wind whistling around his ears.

~~~~~~~~~~

**Third Age, 2941  
Erebor**

Legolas almost missed the soft words spoken, so easily lost in the din of those moving to and from the gates to the battlefield and back.

“What is it, Kíli?” he asked.

“Cold…” the young dwarf said.

And then Tauriel is there, piling his and her cloaks over the prince in an effort to try and keep him warm. That is about all they can do for him. He’s partly lying now in Legolas’ lap, the Woodland Prince refusing to let go of his royal counterpart and outright snarling at anyone who tried to take him away.

Only Oin, the Dwarven healer, was permitted to touch him outside of himself and Tauriel, and having allowed that, Legolas held Kíli tighter as the old dwarf examined him and then let out a sigh that shook from grief and weariness. There were unshed tears in the healer’s eyes as he gently touched the young prince’s face and hair, that spilled over when he stood and walked away, back bent and head bowed.

“I’ve got you, Kíli.” Legolas knew it was denial speaking, but he didn’t care. “Please hold on for me. You can’t leave me like this.” He almost wanted to shake Kíli. “We were supposed to show them together that Elves and Dwarves can live together in harmony. I can’t do that if you’re not here.”

Kíli opened his eyes again and Legolas could see the shadows in them that hid the warmth of the brown. “You can. You still can.”

“Not without you,” he replied firmly. “I need you at my side, Kíli!”

Tauriel could only look on helplessly as blood started to color their cloaks. It wouldn’t be long now, and she hoped it would be sooner than later if for nothing else than to spare him more trauma and to spare Legolas more grief.

They could hear the prince wheeze as he tried to breathe and speak. “So… cold.”

“Bring another blanket,” Legolas ordered.

“Legolas…” Tauriel tried to reason with him.

“Now! Please Tauriel… I will not have him suffer cold on top of everything else.”

A third cloak joined the previous two, this one slightly heavier and finer in weave and fabric. Both elves looked up to see the King of Mirkwood standing before them. Tauriel made to rise and bow, but a raised hand stopped her movement.

“Father,” Legolas began, and stopped when the same hand silenced him.

“Thorin Oakenshield has passed,” he spoke in Sindarin; Legolas guessed he didn’t want Kíli to hear this bit of information.

Tauriel cursed and her clenched fist hit the ground hard. “What good are all the riches in the world when we lose an entire generation too young; before they can even come of age to inherit it?” she asked in Sindarin, her tone bitter.

“The Halfling said almost the same,” Thranduil said as he knelt by his son and took the young Dwarf prince’s hand in his.

“Then he is the only one here with good sense.” Tauriel held Kíli’s other hand, trying to offer some measure of comfort to him, small as it was.

Elves did not cry, but looking at Tauriel, Legolas wondered if she would be the exception to that rule. She had developed a friendly affection for the dwarf from the time he spent in the Greenwood kingdom’s dungeons, and now her eyes glistened as she looked at his broken form, trying to somehow comprehend the finality of mortality, that she still had to go on living and missing a piece of her heart forever.

Such was the price of immortality. Eternal life came with eternal memories – just forgetting was not an option for their people.

Legolas looked to his father. “Can you not save him?” he asked, still keeping to their native tongue.

There was a sadness in Thranduil’s eyes that Legolas rarely saw. “He is beyond even the skills of Elrond of Imladris. I can do no more than ease his pain and make his journey to Aulë a more comfortable one.”

The older Elf laid his other hand gently on the Dwarf’s forehead and closed his eyes, lips murmuring soft words to soothe the distress he felt from the young prince.

Legolas ran his fingers through the dark brown locks now matted with blood dried and still trickling. He remembered the first time he had touched them and how surprised he had been at its softness despite how unkempt it was. How long ago it had been, and yet not that long for an immortal like himself. Sometimes it felt like only yesterday….

~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Third Age, 2911  
Eriador**

He was lying in a bed just a little too small for him.

The sheets were a little rougher than he was accustomed to, the pillow not so soft, but at least he was indoors and it was warm, and he hurt a lot less than he had when he was out lying in the snow in the biting cold. Which begged the question, where was he?

He started to open his eyes even as he tried to shift his body up into a sitting position. He felt the pull of bandages and a palm, only just starting to roughen, laid across his brow and gently held him down.

“Try not to move, you’re still running a fever and your arm is still mending.”

It was the same voice he had first heard out in the snow after the wolves had attacked. This time when his eyes opened, his vision is clearer and free of the pain-haze he had been under earlier, and he was able to better focus on the dwarf hovering over him. The face was young, even for Dwarves, with barely even a trace of the beard their race was known for, and his hair hung lose and unbraided – again, something unusual for a Dwarf.

He tried to speak and grimaced when his voice came out harsher than it usually sounded. Immediately, the dwarf poured out a cup of water and helped him drink it. Once he had drained it, Legolas laid back on the pillow and tried again.

“You’re… Kíli, aren’t you?” he asked. “I heard your name mentioned.”

The dwarf nodded with a smile that removed even more years from his face. “I am.”

“Where am I?”

“The southern range of the Blue Mountains.” Kíli drew up a chair so he could sit, once he was certain the elf was not going to try any sudden movements. “My brother and I come from the northern range, but we were visiting some of our father’s kin who dwell here and decided to wait out the winter here before heading home. You’re lucky we were nearby.”

Legolas studied him a little more. “How old are you, pardon my asking.”

“Just turned 47. My brother is 52.”

“Forgive me, but you are rather young to be hunting wargs, even for your people. You have not even come of age yet.”

Kili only chuckled and shook his head. “We were not hunting the wargs. The warriors chased them off when the ravens reported that they had come too close to the mountains. We followed later to scuot and try and forage for some food. That was when we found you.”

“And for that I thank you again.”

“You should thank the healers actually. They did most of the work patching you up.” Kíli tilted his head. “Though I thought Elves didn’t fall sick?”

“We do not,” Legolas replied. “But we can be poisoned, for instance, through warg bites. They are not animals of the natural world, but beasts of the dark powers.”

“Still, you’re lucky you’re an Elf. The healers said these wounds would have killed a Man, but they think you should be fully healed in a couple of weeks, even your arm.”

Legolas frowned a bit. “My arm?” He only just felt the splint against his skin.

“Oh, yes. It was fractured at the forearm.”

“I see.” The elf was starting to feel a little tired from what seemed to be an endless supply of energy from the dwarf, though it was heartening to see such cheer in what was turning out to be a bitter, dreary winter.

And he had none of the hostility or mistrust his father had told him to expect if ever he ran across their race. In fact, all he had was a little sparkle of mischief in his brown eyes that only brightened when he smiled, and it warmed Legolas’ heart to see it. Perhaps his father was wrong….

Kíli was still talking as Legolas mused. “We did manage to salvage your bow. I’ve never held a longbow before; mine’s just a little recurve.”

“You’re an archer then?”

The dwarf’s smile fell a little and Legolas thought he noticed a trace of sadness creep into his eyes. “I am, though it’s not a typical Dwarven role… but you could say it runs in the family. My father was an archer.”

Legolas noted how Kíli said ‘was’ instead of ‘is’ which told him enough to drop the subject. Fortunately he was spared from saying anything more by the door opening quietly to let a fair-haired head peer around it. This is had to be Kíli’s brother, Fíli if he remembered the name right.

The older dwarf came into the room and towards the bed with a quiet calm gait that was the complete opposite of his younger brother’s abundant energy, something the elf was a little thankful for, though he would never begrudge Kíli his youthful enthusiasm. It reminded him too much of himself and his own restlessness, which was the reason he had undertaken this journey.

“Don’t wear him out, Kíli,” the older brother admonished gently. “Especially if he’s only just woken up.”

The younger looked a bit sheepish as he looked back at Legolas. “I’m terribly sorry if I’ve been bothering you,” he apologized. “I was just glad to see you awake.”

Legolas waved his good hand. “It was done in good faith, and I do feel better than before.”

“That’s good. You’ve been asleep for two days since we brought you in; it is good to know it did some good though I fear our healers do not have the same skills of healing as your people do.”

“I am grateful for your help nonetheless.” Legolas noted that Fíli did not come as close to him as Kíli did, and his way of speaking was a little more formal, less personal.

“Are you hungry?” Kíli spoke up, causing Legolas’ eyes to turn to the dark-haired dwarf again.

Fíli spoke before the elf could answer. “I’ll have Kíli bring you some broth, and then you should rest again.” He gave his brother a pointed look as he spoke the latter sentence. “Come, Kíli.”

~~~~~~~~~~

**Third Age, 2941  
Erebor**

“Come, Tauriel.”

They looked up as the Elvenking stood and held out his hand to the red-haired elf. She looked to protest, but the expression on the older elf’s face brooked no argument, so she took his hand and pulled herself to her feet, casting one more look back at the pair on the ground. Legolas’ eyes had turned back to the dwarf in his arms.

“Grief does not need an audience,” Thranduil whispered to her.

“It’s not right,” she murmured as she was led away.

“No. None of this was, but it cannot be undone now, not by the powers we possess. Perhaps in another life, another time, fate will be kinder to them.”

They walked in silence then, and as they left the gates of Erebor, they spied a small figure sitting alone on a tuft of grass with his head buried in his arms. Tauriel immediately left Thranduil’s side and went over to him, and as she approached, the figure uncurled slightly revealing a bandaged head and tear-streaked face.

“I am so sorry, Master Baggins,” she said as she crouched beside him and he wrapped his arms around her and dampness soaked into her shoulder. Gently she rubbed his back, for she knew he was a gentle little soul, and what had happened here was something no one should have to go through.

“At least I made up with Thorin before he… before…” the hobbit choked on his words.

She looked over at the Elvenking, but the expression on his face was unreadable as he nodded slightly and left her to console the Halfling.

“That is good then.”

“What of Fíli?”

Tauriel gently moved him back so she could at least meet his eyes when she delivered the news. “He passed before the King did.”

He gave a whimper that almost broke Tauriel’s heart. “And Kíli? Please not Kíli, too. He’s so young.” Far, far too young to meet the same end as his brother and uncle, and yet…

“He lives still. Legolas is with him.” She hated the flicker of hope that shone in the hobbit’s eyes for a brief moment before it vanished when he realized she still had more to say. “But I fear it will not be for long. I doubt he will make it to nightfall.”

The Halfling gave a cry that made her feel utterly wretched.

“But you’re healers! All of you have some skill with healing. You can save him!”

“He is beyond our skill to heal now, any skill.”

“Then what good are you?!” he was almost shouting now, but Tauriel did not react, knowing his words were fuelled by grief rather than anger or hatred. She herself had said much the same thing a while ago. “What good are all your talents and immortality if it cannot save the life of a… a CHILD?!” Because Kíli was still something of a child in his eyes, and would always be. “What was the point of all this?! What’s the use of all this ridiculous gold? A whole family was just wiped out, and all the jewels of Middle-earth will not bring them back! It’s not fair!”

He curled back in on himself, and all Tauriel could do was hold him as he wept, till Gandalf found them later.

……

Legolas could see Kíli’s breathing slow as the pain was numbed, and his features eased their grimace till he looked like he was merely in some minor discomfort. It was hollow comfort for Legolas – his body did not heal, and the ground and his clothes still soaked up Kíli’s blood with every passing moment.

“Kíli…” Legolas called for him every time he feared the young prince was slipping away, though this time he could not think of anything else to say. Asking him to hold on would just be cruel.

The brown eyes took longer to open this time, and Legolas knew he didn’t have much time left.

“You’ll be alright, you know,” Kíli said quietly, voice still rasping as he struggled for breath.

“How could I be, without you there?”

A soft chuckle quickly turned into a cough and Legolas grip tightened just that little bit more. “Because you’re stronger than this… and you’re not selfish. You know others will need you.”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Of course you do.”

The elf’s fingers brushed a cheek that had only just started to sprout a beard. “What’s the point of all of this Kíli? How is it a victory if I lose you?”

Kíli leaned his head against the hand on his cheek. “You’ll have… something to fight for. You’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I should have fought for you.”

“You will. That’s what counts.”

“Kíli…”

“Can’t… leave brother.” The dwarf’s breathing was shallower and Legolas could feel his skin growing colder. “Won’t totally abandon you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

**Third Age, 2911  
Eriador**

“We can’t just abandon him!”

It was Kíli’s harsh whisper that roused Legolas from another bout of sleep.

“He’s an Elf, Kíli.”

“So? What has that got to do with anything?”

Blinking, as his senses returned to him, Legolas was able to discern that Fíli and Kíli were just outside his door and trying to argue quietly about… well, about him it seemed. And while it was rude to eavesdrop, since he was the topic of discussion here, he decided it would be alright to do so just this once.

“Some of the other dwarves are uneasy about him staying here. They only agreed to help because of us. They may not be all our people here, but the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains have their own grudges with Elves.”

“They’re not OUR grudges. Fíli, it’s the middle of one of the harshest winters we’ve ever known. I won’t turn someone out into that. He’ll die.”

“Elves can’t die; they’re immortal.”

“Tell that to the two Elves we buried in the woods.”

“You rescue one elf and suddenly you’re an expert on them? What would Uncle say?”

“He’s not going to say anything, because we’re not going to tell him.”

“Kíli…”

“And if he does find out, I’ll say it was my idea. You don’t have to take the blame for anything.”

“That’s not the point. He should be with his own kind. The Havens are not far from here, he could make it there before the winter deepens.”

“I am not going to throw a wounded person out into the cold and the wolves. I won’t, Fíli, I don’t care if he’s an elf. And if the others don’t like it, well… you’re the heir.”

“To Erebor, not the Blue Mountains.”

“We’re of Durin’s Line, we still rank higher.”

“I’m not saying we won’t give him time to recover, of course we will, but once he’s well it’s better if…”

“If you turn him out, I’ll go with him.”

“Kíli don’t be ridiculous.”

“YOU’RE being ridiculous. It’s not right, you know it’s not. You’re just worried that others will think less of us. Well it doesn’t have to be “us”. It can just be me, alright? I’ll look after him; he doesn’t even need the healers anymore.”

“You like him.”

“What? Fíli I’ve only known him a week. You’re being absurd.” There was some movement and shuffling by the door. “I’m going hunting, and I hope you’ll start speaking sense when I get back.”

Legolas heard one set of footsteps – Kíli’s – moving away just before the door opened and Fíli stepped inside. Blue eyes met blue eyes and the dwarf sighed.

“You weren’t supposed to hear all that,” Fíli said.

“I do not want to be the cause of strife between the two of you,” Legolas replied. “I will leave for the Havens as soon as I am healed enough to travel.”

“And then Kíli would never forgive me.” Fíli shook his head and crossed the room to pour the elf some water and check on his wounds. “And he would be right not to, because he’s right. I know he is, yet…”

“You care about what might happen to him if rumors spread that he socialized with an Elf.” Legolas raised himself up slowly on an elbow. The wounds didn’t burn and pull as much as they did the day before but he knew he still had to be careful not to open them again.

Fíli propped a couple of pillows behind him so he could lean back and drink the water. “He’s my little brother… and he has a very big heart… and too much courage than is good for him. Someone has to look out for him.” He checked the wounds and found the shallowest of them already healed.

“Nonetheless I do not wish to be a nuisance. At the very least I will confine myself to this house until such time comes that I can depart.”

“Don’t be daft. You’re not a prisoner; you don’t need to do that.” Fíli took the cup back once Legolas had drunk. “Granted I’m not going to say it’s a good idea for you to go frolicking in the mountains with the rest of the dwarven population, but the woods are a free area, and if the dwarves don’t like that, they can stuff it.”

Legolas smiled a bit. “I see the legendary stubbornness of the Dwarves is true.”

“But don’t play with my brother," Fili spoke up after a pause.

The elf blinked in surprise. “Pardon?”

“I told you my brother has a big heart. Don’t play with it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know…”

“Because you’re an Elf and he’s a Dwarf and it could never be, and one day you’ll leave, and he’ll be hurt,” Fíli cut him off and continued. “You don’t see it now, you don't see HIM now, but you might later, and Kíli’s the one who will be hurt the most by it; and I have to look out for him.”

Fíli left the room, leaving Legolas to ponder the strange words and the conversation he’d heard before, and he had to admit a lot of it made little sense. He continued to dwell on it until it made his head hurt and he was forced to close his eyes and rest.

……

Legolas sensed more than saw that night had fallen when he opened his eyes again. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and he looked around for the source of the noise that woke him – a quiet breathing from nearby. When he found it, he couldn’t help but smile.

Kíli was asleep in the chair beside his bed, head pillowed on his arms that were folded on the mattress. From what little he knew of the young dwarf, he knew he must have been really tired to simply fall asleep at an elf’s bedside.

The water pitcher was full again, and there were clean bandages around his wounds that smelled of fresh herbs to aid healing. The dwarf had either gone out foraging for the plants or had been to the healers for more medicine. Either way, Legolas was grateful for the care and it brought back the memory of the brief talk he’d had with the dwarf’s older brother.

A sigh left him as he looked at Kíli’s sleeping form again, and hesitantly, afraid that he would wake him, he stretched his right hand out to gently brush some of the dark hair away from his face.

He was so, so young…

~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Third Age, 2941  
Erebor**

Too young.

“Kíli…”

Legolas wished he could make himself believe the dwarf in his arms was only sleeping when this time the young prince did not stir at his call.

But his eyes were still open and lifeless, his chest did not rise and fall anymore, and there was no breath from the pale lips that once used to smile so brightly. Legolas brushed the limp hair away from his face and gently drew the lids down over the brown eyes that had once been so warm with life and mischief.

“Aulë guide him home,” he murmured in Sindarin and Common, and for a while all he could do was hold the cold form tightly thinking the familiar weight could ease the crushing pain in his heart while he shut his eyes to try and stop the burning in them.

The blood had dried on the ground and on his clothes when he finally stirred again. He could hear footsteps in the distance, making their way towards him, and he knew it was time to let Kíli go.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the dwarf’s brow, lips lingering on the cold forehead while a single tear escaped and streaked down his cheek to drip onto Kíli’s.

“Navaer, mell min.”*

He stood with the young prince’s limp form in his arms and turned to see his father and Gandalf approaching. There was deep sorrow in the Grey Wizard’s eyes and he noticed a sadness even in his father’s. Gandalf sighed deeply.

“And so passes the last heir of Thorin Oakenshield,” he said, then added softly. “Well before his time. Come, my lad,” he spoke softly to Legolas. “It’s time he was with his brother and uncle.”

Legolas wanted to move to follow them, but his feet remained rooted to the ground. He stirred only when his father touched his shoulder and gave him a light shake.

“Son, look at me.” Legolas met his father’s eyes. “Can you walk with us?” Legolas nodded. “Then let us bring him to his family, his people. They need to say goodbye as well.”

He wasn’t sure how he managed to walk into Erebor without stumbling. He was only vaguely aware of the other dwarves eyes on him as he carried their younger prince’s body over to where the king and elder prince lay. If they noticed his blood-soaked clothes, they said nothing.

There was a sudden movement as the hall cleared, leaving only Gandalf, his father, the Man Bard, and some of the surviving members of Thorin’s Company with him.

“Tauriel is with the Halfling,” Thranduil said as if sensing his son’s unasked question. “I’m afraid he took the news of their passing quite badly, and she’s now trying to get him to rest.”

An elder dwarf with white hair and a long white beard approached them, a tired and sad yet kindly expression on his face. “Come, laddie. Young Kíli has one last journey to make with his kin.”

Legolas knew this, knew he had to place Kíli down on the stone slab beside his brother, yet his body seemed frozen in place once again. He knew it was the last time he would ever hold him in his arms. 

Thranduil stepped forward once again and gently pried his son’s arms lose from their tight grip on the dwarf prince. “Let him go, son. You have to let him go.”

And so he did. Laying Kíli down on the hard stone, Legolas once more tenderly brushed the stray locks of hair away from his face, and it felt strange to see him lying there so still, knowing this body would never move again. He was no stranger to death. He had seen Elves slain before. What he was unused to was mortality, the finality that death did not give back what it claimed.

Another droplet splashed onto Kíli’s cheek, and he wiped it away idly wondering if the ceiling was leaking. Because it couldn’t be his eyes. Elves did not cry.

“Grief can be stronger than our bodies.” Gandalf stood beside him now. “Especially grief that comes from love. Do not fear them; these tears are not evil.”

“Mithrandir… can you…?

“It is not in my power, young one, though how I wish it was, but I cannot undo mortality.” The wizard placed a hand on his shoulder. “Know this however, Woodland Prince, for I too have known the death and grief of dear friends: they still live here.” He touched a finger to Legolas’ chest. “Keep young Kíli’s memory alive, and he will never be too far away.”

Legolas wondered how many Gandalf had lost since coming to Middle-earth.

There was a light tug on his arm, and Legolas let his father finally pull him back so the other dwarves could gather around and say their own goodbyes to their king and princes… and kin, if he remembered correctly.

His father looked concerned as they slowly made their way out of the hall. “Will you be alright?” he asked. “Is there anything you need?”

“Can you give me Kíli back? His brother?”

“Son…”

“We were wrong, Father. We were all so terribly wrong, and I don’t know if it can ever be put right again. The price was too high.”

Thranduil said nothing as he allowed Legolas to pull away from him and walk ahead.

It was a mess.

That was the only way to describe it.

~END.

*”Farewell, dear one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *passes out tissues and hides* ... will it help if I said I'm working on a second part to this story?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where it came from, not really...  
> Only that one day "I Will Always Love You" came on my iPod and it felt like Kili's goodbye to someone special in his life. Someone he couldn't really have (and it's a break-up song anyway, if you really listen to the words). Next thing I know, BAM! fic.  
> I'm not even gonna lie and say I didn't cry while writing this.


End file.
